


with tender words entreating

by the_ragnarok



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sweet Talking, the softest D/s ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: PWP coda for prim_the_amazing's "Team Building Exercises For a Harmonious Workplace". Jon and Martin have some unimpaired sex.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 22
Kudos: 292





	with tender words entreating

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Team Building Exercises For a Harmonious Workplace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592945) by [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing). 



Martin kisses sweetly, lingering on every touch of lips like it's the height of luxury. Jon has to admit kissing him is very nice.

When finally Martin draws away, he looks a tad anxious. "You do like it, right?"

Jon does not roll his eyes, but it's a struggle. They've gone over this. The Leitner removed inhibitions, but it neither made Jon react differently to sex nor made him lie about his response. Even so, he repeats, "I enjoy it." He supposes Martin's worries are not ill-founded. "I would have prepared myself, even, but you insisted on doing that yourself." That would be a touch insulting if Martin had not proved himself more proficient than Jon in that area. 

Martin's gaze grows heated as Jon mentions preparation. "Yeah," he breathes out. "I'll get to it, then, shall I?"

They're lying on their sides, facing each other, and Jon scoots so that one of his legs rests atop Martin's, giving him access.

The few times he'd attempted this act before, this stage had been awkward, having to endure his partners' earnest attempts to arouse him and comfort them when they failed. 

Before Jon can worry, though, Martin is kissing him again, his clean hand cupping the back of Jon's head. Martin breaks away from the kiss to mouth Jon's forehead near the hairline, and Jon shivers. 

"Thank you for letting me do this with you," Martin says, low and tender in a way that makes Jon squirm. He likes it when Martin is soft with him, likes it so much he has no idea what to do with it. 

"You haven't done anything yet," Jon says, because that's the only thing he can think to say. 

"Hush," Martin says. "Come here." He gathers Jon close, an embrace that's tight without being crushing, and draws him into another kiss. 

By the time Jon notices Martin's finger inside him, he'd already gone a fair bit inside. "Oh," Jon says, when Martin breaks off the kiss so they can breathe. 

He'd forgotten, almost, how meandering Martin is when it comes to this. How he takes forever, taking Jon apart in the process. When Jon's nervous, he has a bad habit of grabbing the nearest piece of scrap paper and reducing it to atom-sized confetti. It feels like that's what Martin is trying to do to him.

Martin does not look nervous, though. He looks absorbed, fascinated. His tongue sticks a little bit out of his mouth. Jon is appalled to realize he thinks it's cute. 

He’s distracted again when Martin traces a finger down his cheek. “You’re so lovely,” Martin says. “I love looking at you. Touching you.” He mouths at Jon’s jaw. 

Martin’s attention falls on him, hushed and heavy like an intense snowfall. It’s warm, though, so warm. Jon is held, and kissed, and wanted, and Martin’s fingers in him make him gasp from the sensation.

“Beautiful,” Martin whispers, and kisses Jon’s left eyebrow. 

Jon twists, trying to push Martin’s fingers deeper inside him, hissing when Martin pins him down easily with one arm. “Martin,” he says, in a voice so low and shaky he barely recognizes it.

Martin’s eyes are all pupils. “Shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. No rush.”

Jon would quite like to protest that, but Martin is stroking him from the inside and his words lose their way, coming out as a weak moan. It gets Martin to kiss him again, so he has that much going for him. 

The more Martin kisses him, the more Martin holds him down and _looks_ at him and talks to him this way, the more Jon feels like he’s floating, suspended in some liquid that at the same down is weighing down his limbs. Like a fly stuck in honey. Although, actually, it turns out that the old idiom is wrong and in fact fruit flies prefer vinegar, because--

“Jon,” Martin says. He’s not quite kissing Jon’s cheek as much as he’s rubbing his lips against it, speaking into Jon’s skin. “Jon, are you with me?”

Dazed, Jon can only nod. He feels fuller than before - did Martin add fingers when he wasn’t paying attention? - and despite this, empty. “I need more.”

Martin presses their lips together for just a moment, like he can’t go on another minute without kissing Jon. “Soon, okay? Real soon.”

Jon twists, and considers snapping that it’s _not_ okay and that Martin should give it to him right now. He’s sure Martin would, if Jon told him to, but that would mean popping back into reality and he doesn’t want to. 

Martin teases for a little longer before pushing his fingers deep, forcing a whined, “Please,” out of Jon. 

Being fingered feels good, is the thing; and it doesn’t come with strings attached, the way it goes when people touch his cock. Martin isn’t looking to make him hard, or make him come. What exactly Martin gets from fingering Jon until he’s incoherent, Jon isn’t sure, but he’s willing to entertain it. 

Martin draws his fingers out and Jon stiffens. At the loss of sensation, yes, but also… there’s a particular moment in sex, in Jon’s experience, which feels a bit like shifting gears: _that_ was foreplay, _this_ is getting off. Jon usually marks that part as the bit where he stops having fun. 

He is not expecting for Martin’s fingers to return into him. “What?” Jon says, barely managing the single word.

“It’s okay. Everything’s good. Just thought you could use a bit more attention.” Then Martin descends for another kiss, and Jon stops thinking for a while.

When he’s next aware of his surroundings, he has his thighs splayed open, a pillow under his hips, and Martin’s cock moving with glacial slowness inside him. Jon feels open, not just in body: unravelled under Martin’s unrelenting, worshipful gaze. Jon couldn’t escape his sincere adoration if he tried.

Jon sobs and tries fruitlessly to thrust, bring Martin deeper into him. Martin kisses him and moves slower still, maddening and so beautiful that Jon’s heart is fit to burst. 

“Please,” he finally says. That worked last time, hadn’t it? What was it he’d said, exactly? “Please fuck me, Martin.”

“I love you,” Martin whispers into his ear, like a secret, before shifting his hold on Jon and _ramming_ inside. He’s big, and now he’s letting Jon take all of him, pushing deep inside like he could take root and stay in Jon forever. 

Jon wraps his legs around Martin’s waist and clings, holding on as hard as he can. 

He misses Martin’s climax, only realizing it’s happened when Martin is petting his hair and kissing his face and isn’t in him anymore. Before Jon can stop himself, he makes a sad little noise.

Martin kisses his temple. “What do you need?”

The answer, of course, is that he doesn’t need anything. He _wants_ certain things, but that does not mean he should have them.

But Martin is giving him that _look_ , stern and unyielding in a way that simultaneously belongs nowhere near Martin’s face and seems to make up the core of him. 

Jon doesn’t understand it, but it makes him admit, “I feel empty.”

Martin smiles like a blossoming flower. “Can’t have that, can we?” he says and tucks his fingers back into Jon, like they belong there. 

Jon has many, many items on his to-do list for today, and now that they’re done, he should get up and do them rather than linger. He leans his head against Martin’s chest, eyes slipping shut. He will absolutely not fall asleep, like some degenerate, with Martin still fingering him.

Something soft and heavy drapes over him, and Martin whispers, “Sleep,” and Jon does.


End file.
